Some Things
by trunks111
Summary: Tayuya(Tai). Yuri. Some things just have to be. Tai has been through a lot in his life. He deals with a lot still. He's depressed and suicidal, but he's trying. He has his reasons. As does everyone. Is there something worth living for?
1. Chapter 1

Tai gazed in the mirror once more. Gently moving his collar to better see his fresh tattoo. It was still slightly disorienting to see. He'd gotten it done mere hours ago. It was probably one of his most important to date though. He looked at himself in the mirror, the tattoo, the short, jaggedly cut red hair, clear brown eyes, lightly tanned skin.  
His life..., is not what he ever expected. The point of the tattoo, the real meaning behind it, was so that hopefully it would remind him of his reason to not kill himself. Well, the phrase itself was his reason, "Ji'e'toh", honor and obligation.  
He planned to kill himself in the spot the tattoo sat. He hoped though, seeing that, he would be able to refrain. It would strengthen his resolve. It had to. It needed to be done.  
Originally, he planned to get it on his wrist, but he knew that simply wasn't good enough. He had to really see the damned thing. See the consequences if he went through with it. It would mark him forever, sure he was young, but it was necessary. He had to do it.

Everything had just gotten worse as the years continued to crawl by.  
He was originally outed as a lesbian when he was eleven, not yet knowing anything regarding gender. He was hated and hated himself for it. This sparked the first time his Depression became noticeable. He would cut himself using sharpened, wooden pencils. Typically on the upper right bicep, though he rarely drew blood. More or less, just grazing the skin, though it would burn like hell. He even put rubberbands on his hands to snap when he got angry at something he couldn't change. Which really only served to make him angrier, but he was trying to diffuse it. Eventually, he grew to accept himself for that though. During high school, he came to the slow realization that he had Disassociative Identity Disorder. Four alters, not including himself.  
At first, he didn't want to accept it, and tried to ignore them. As with all things though, he came to accept it and educated himself about them and the disorder itself. He told very few people, only those he truly trusted and/or cared about. Some people however, couldn't accept that about him.  
Throughout his last years of highschool, he questioned his gender. He hated in himself, everything to do with being feminine. At first, he thought he was simply male-to-female transgender. But..., that didn't feel right. He looked further into it and eventually came to the conclusion that he is Agender, which means he has no gender. Though if he has to be perceived as male or female, he would prefer it be male. And so he prefers people to refer to him as Tai, rather than Tayuya, and he or they, rather than she. Not everyone respected that of course, which he expected. Nevertheless, he accepts it as it is and doesn't really concern himself with it. The only time it truly affects him, is when someone who said they would respect it, does not. Though typically, he'll still hold his tongue, simply not caring enough to challenge them. Arguing being too exhausting.  
As he entered his adult years, he discovered the likelihood of his having Borderline Personality Disorder. The symptoms were spread amongst his alters though... He didn't like to think about it. He could see the sense of it, and tried to control the more extreme behaviors and thoughts when he caught them. His anger was still an issue, though over the years, he had gotten considerably better at controlling it.  
He couldn't let things go. That was the biggest part of his anger. He held grudges, he couldn't forgive people for wronging him. Even if they apologized, he was still wary of them. Anymore though, ever since he'd been put on that first medication, he didn't get angry as often or as explosively. It did happen though, it could be something impossibly small or something actually worth getting pissed over. He knew he should calm down when it was something small, but oftentimes he didn't want to. He felt good when he was angry. He felt powerful. Which he knew wasn't a good thing. He needed to stop being angry.  
He had been suicidal since he was eleven. Nearly twenty-one, and the feelings have only intensified. Before, he had vague ideas of how he would commit the deed. The main thing he wanted out of it, was to do it in that woman's home. In the bathroom, force her to clean up the mess that she had pushed him to. Blood would splatter every where, the mirrors, the floor, the sink. But he would die smiling. Now though, he had a much clearer plan. On a few occasions when he had tried before, he had even written suicide notes. Mostly, they detailed what he wanted done with his personal belongings, and the fact that it was no one's fault, his actions were his own. The time he actually did the deed, whenever that may be, he was unsure if he would bother with a note. Maybe, to give people closure. He had made four attempts in the past. He never went to the hospital. All but one time, he used pills. The other time, he was going to use a large knife.  
Recently, having told his therapist of his plan, she made him go to the mental hospital. It did nothing but anger him, but it also prompted the change in his placement of the tattoo he just got. The social worker there, was utterly useless, she kept trying to insinuate everything that was wrong was because he was gay and trans. Which was absolutely not the case, he had made his peace with those things years before. She got frustrated with him for rolling his eyes, but she had no clue what she was talking about.

His new job started in just under two weeks. He had worked there previously, it was a terrible place, and supposedly, it had gotten even worse. Though, the pay had gotten better. He tried not to think about it. Before..., working there had literally almost killed him. Everything got increasingly worse, depression, anger, anxiety. He hated his life, himself, his job, just everything. The girl he was dating at the time, left him, even though she was literally what got him through the days. He planned to go see her before he went to college after the job ended. But..., she left him, and that's when everything got worse than it was. He had decided that he was done with women, and would just concentrate on his college plans.  
That however..., was not how it happened. He changed jobs to another seasonal, and met another woman. She was literally his idea of physical perfection. He was interested, and it finally came to light that she liked him back. She was incredibly dim though, but she was slightly older, physically perfect, so he went for it. And they lasted longer than they ought to have. He even forwent his college plans to stay with her and help her better her life.  
Because of her, he started therapy and that first medication. He hated both things, but did them to please her. That was all he cared about, at first. Everything he did, he did for her, never because he wanted to. He did draw lines though, he refused to give up drinking Monster. When the medication stopped all of his feelings, he stopped taking it, and despite getting yelled at for that, he felt intensely better once the medication was out of his system. Things disintegrated between them slowly, mostly because he was using her until he got a better job and another roommate. Eventually though, he got fed up with her and encouraged her to find someone else. She hadn't wanted to at first, but she did and was clearly happier without him. He was definitely more himself without her.  
He tried dating a transman after that, but things quickly fell apart. That added to his depression for a while, but that eventually faded.  
After that he was single for over a year.

He met another non-binary trans person and wound up dating them for six or seven months. Again, he wanted to help them. It failed, as always. Again, he had a beautiful aesthetic, and was different. But things happened and they fell apart. After he left, his roommate and others commented he seemed more like himself. He honestly didn't feel much over their break-up, he had been expecting it.

His depression and suicidal ideation had gotten worse as time went on. He was on new medication, all he noticed so far, was that it made him tired. He was still going to therapy as well. He wasn't sure if progress was being made, it didn't seem that way. But..., things would get worse before they got better. That's what was always said. Maybe it was the truth.

His fingers grazed the skin just beneath the new tattoo. Some things just had to be...


	2. Chapter 2

He wasn't sure why it happened, but it did. As always. It really was inevitable.  
It had been a good day though, so he couldn't understand why he was feeling as he was. There was literally no logic to it. Nothing to indicate why. Had it even been an hour that he'd returned home? He wasn't sure, but now, alone in his room, he felt his depression seeping back into his thoughts. It was like a slow poison, one that could take hours or even days to kill you, but as it was a poison, without an antidote, death was a certainty. Nothing could hold his attention, nothing was interesting. He wanted, to do something, to distract himself, but nothing seemed worth doing. Everything was just uninteresting. Abruptly, his thoughts turned to suicide. Why? Because he was bored. Literally. He knew that was a foolish notion. Yes, he did want to die, but not simply because he was bored!  
He was infuriated but that barely even penetrated the dull gray fog that had settled over him. He laid there, motionless, listening to some animated comedy play on the tv in his room. He wanted to play a game, but none of them sounded interesting. Well it did, but he just couldn't find it in himself to care. He tried messaging a friend that always cheered him no matter what, but they never answered. Eventually, defeated, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Sitting with his girlfriend, he came to a few realizations. He was tired of feeling the way he did. He wanted things to change. He wanted help that would actually help. Nothing seemed to be working and he couldn't understand why that was. It was like he was stuck, not going forward or back, just in place. He considered another hospital stay, but knew it would do nothing as they couldn't offer anything. He went to therapy, once a week. He got along with his therapist, she was very understanding and willing to work with him. She was doing everything she could, but somehow, he couldn't see changes and it disappointed him. He wasn't disappointed with her, just himself.  
It really was like before, when he was younger, just a fucking kid. He wanted to die, just to get it over with already. He was tired of life, tired of living. Again though, as he had acknowledged in the last few years whenever his thoughts went this way, he has the proverbial everything. Everything to live for. Everything to want to live for but still, that desire to live, isn't within him. And truthfully, he doesn't think it ever really was. Even when he was a kid.

His earliest memories were of when he was around three or four, pretty young, but even then he knew he was different from the other kids. He preferred to hang out with the older siblings or adults, to be involved in real conversations, watch the history channel with his absent father. He'd always been fascinated with death, ever since he learned of it. It was interesting, untouchable, irreversible. Blood, guts, pain, suffering, all those things were appealing. He wanted to know why to all of it. The why of everything in the universe. He was always asking people why, even now, he always asks.

He was probably four when his first pet, a goldfish, died. He hadn't cared much though, he wasn't terribly attached to it. He loved his dad's cats though they didn't always like him, unless he gave them food with permission.  
It wasn't until he was between seven and nine that he saw his first dead thing in person. It was his Aunt and Uncle's dog, she wasn't that old. She had died of a heart attack, due to the weather. He wasn't there, he had been at school. He found her body, laying outside, he assumed she was sleeping, and thought nothing of it. Later, when he learned of her death, he was sad but also confused. He didn't understand why she was just laying there, why she had died. Well obviously, he understood that her heart had stopped beating but he didn't understand why it had done that, other than the obvious cause. It broke his cousin's heart, many tears were shed for days after, but he didn't really cry, he didn't really feel anything. He knew she was dead and not coming back, not coming to greet him when he returned from school, not begging for scraps at the table, not taking and hiding the other dog's tennis balls. He knew, but he didn't particularly care, he just wanted to know why. To understand death.

His mother, at first, had tried to convince him to believe as she did. School, however, changed all of that. He saw no evidence of a "God", and therefore believed solely in science's way of creation. As he grew older, he learned of other gods and goddesses and belief systems. He learned that death hadn't always been so feared by so many. In truth, he began to worship one of the many gods of death. Perhaps worship isn't the right word though, he merely held that particular god in higher esteem than all others, he did not believe in prayer and other such things, finding them to be wastes of time more than anything.  
That is probably what solidified his belief that if one wanted something done right, one did it themself.  
For he always heard about "Pray for _", but no one ever seemed to be doing anything about what they prayed for. And so he relied on himself and only himself.

Years later, he came to the conclusion that we live only to die. There is no real point to anything. As the larger part of the world is afraid of death, everything possible is done to extend life. Still, he saw nothing in the world he wanted, nothing truly worth it. Sure, there were good times, but they ended, as did all things. Living just seemed..., irrelevant. Why not cross the ultimate border and see what, if anything, awaited?

It's been a slow process, but as the years have continued to drag by, he has lost faith in all he used to believe. Now..., he simply doesn't care. So what if gods and goddesses exist? What does it truly matter? Everyone's life is their own, to do with as they wish.  
He doesn't blame anyone for how he sees the world. He just accepts it. Maybe his thoughts will change again one day, but for now, even with the proverbial everything, he can't seem to figure out why he's alive. Maybe once, he believed in all sorts of things. But no longer.

Tai exited the room of his girlfriend, going to the bathroom. He looked at his reflection, messy hair, paled skin, tired eyes, tattoos that once meant everything to him. Now..., not even his tattoos held much meaning. The reasons he had wanted them, rang hollow as his beliefs deserted him. He sighed and returned to the bedroom. He glanced at her, she was sleeping peacefully. 'Beautiful,' he thought with a small smile, but it quickly faded as a sigh made it's way past his lips. He laid beside her and closed his eyes.  
Some things, just were...


	3. Chapter 3

Nothing seemed real. He knew, logically, it was. And it would be fine. Bo's anxiety was mounting though, as was his own. He largely didn't get that anxious anymore, but rare times like this, he did.  
He was derealizing and anxious. He was about to start his new job. He had worked there previously. He would be picking, most likely, and had to do so quickly, last time, he hadn't done so well. It was a daunting prospect, but he tried to believe he would be fine.  
His name badge even said Tai, he was pleased with that as no employer had ever done such a thing before, especially not one he had worked for previously.

Even so, despite the good he could find in the situation, the anxiety wasn't diminishing. He tried to calm himself, but to no avail. He hated to think about it, but he wondered if he couldn't get anxiety meds, just as needed type, rather than his daily anti-depressant. He really didn't want to credit his being any sort of 'better' to medications, but the anti-depressants were definitely helping. Daily, he pretty much felt fine, it made things easier. He was actively trying to change his thoughts, it took practice and obviously wasn't always easy. Obviously, some days, nothing could shake the darkness that descended. He was having more good days though, and he had to remind himself that that was something.

A mix of himself and Bo worried over his new job. The first official day of work was tomorrow. It was going to be a long day, as would most days he worked. He was looking forward to his checks, but not the work. If he was packing, it wouldn't be nearly as bad, still long and aching, but easier. His hatred of people was seeping through, his anger rising. He was becoming overwhelmed, he could feel it. The next day was going to be terrible, no doubt. He tried to squash that feeling though, it wasn't good to think that way.

The last few days though..., had been pretty great. He and his girlfriend had spent lots of time together. They wouldn't be able to see each other until the weekend and as things stood, she didn't have those days off. If he could stay awake, he'd be able to see her on her lunch during the week though.  
In honesty, he could hardly believe he had such an amazing woman in his life. She cared immensely about him, respected everything about him and was always understanding. She was so different from everyone he'd been with before. She even understood his asexuality and all of it's strangeness.

He was cupioflux, on both scales of asexuality and aromanticism. He wanted both types of relationship, sexual and romantic, but the desire would fluctuate. Either he was extremely sexual or completely put-off by the notion. He wasn't romantic though, but he did go through periods of time when he wanted companionship and other times when he wanted to be alone all the time. He explained that to her and she was completely fine with it.  
He couldn't help but grin, that had actually caused problems in previous relationships. Most women equated a desire for sex with them as their being attractive or his finding them attractive. That wasn't the case though, but most refused to see it that way. She was awesome.

They talked about moving in together, if only because she needed a roommate and he needed out of his current residence. They were looking into places, but it was a slow process.  
He had some doubts about moving in with her, wondering if it was too early. And since he needed a lot of alone time, he worried about getting it. He also worried about what would happen with bills once the job he just got ended. He was good at saving money though, so..., theoretically it should be fine.

He realized he had become somewhat dependent upon her. It worried him slightly, he had never wanted the company of another so frequently. Bo usually did, obviously, but he actually didn't mind. Even if she didn't really enjoy what he was talking excitedly about, she still smiled and liked listening to him talk about it.

He tried not to think of the future. It was anxiety inducing. The new job. What would happen when the job ended. Getting a new place. Starting college probably the following fall.  
He wanted new tattoos, probably next summer.

It was all pretty daunting. Depression sat just behind him, threatening to overwhelm him, but it was held back if only barely.  
Some things just exist...


	4. Chapter 4

Many things had changed, not all of them good.  
For one, he lost the new job, he probably could have stayed, forced himself to work there. He had gotten extremely angry at someone, within the first hour of being there. He knew it would eventually fall apart because he couldn't control his anger as well anymore. So he left.

The day he nearly lost it all, remained fresh in his mind.  
She hadn't been doing so well. He was extremely concerned, all his alters; save one, were. He let his emotion control him, and in doing that, nearly lost everything. He was thoroughly convinced she was going to end herself, and so he quite literally broke the door of her apartment. At that action, she told him, it was over between them. He couldn't fathom why. He knew, the door was a massive issue, something he shouldn't have done, but he had only done it because he was so convinced of what he thought she was about to do. She was..., in his mind, all that he had. All he had been fighting for. And he had just lost it all, in one emotional fit. Because he didn't stop to think logically about the situation. Because he didn't listen.  
Her words effortlessly shattered him. He couldn't stop the tears that cascaded nor the shakiness as he tried to draw breath. She ordered him to leave but he couldn't make himself obey. He was utterly shellshocked. He was unable to believe what had transpired. Because of his own foolishness. He was so convinced, that he couldn't see the reason and acted without thought, on impulse.  
She called his roommate, telling her to come get him somehow, vaguely explaining the details of what transpired.  
Once she had left him upon the porch for a moment, he broke an old promise, he hit himself, repeatedly. He knocked his glasses off his face but retrieved them before she reappeared.  
Clarity had returned, he knew what he had to do, now that everything he had ever wanted and more, was gone and there was no way he was getting it back. Still, his body didn't want to obey and leave her. Somehow, she wrested his plan from his traitorous lips, and she threatened to call the one family member that he actually cared about. She threatened to call all of his family, to make sure he couldn't do it. He brokenly asked her why, it was what he had to do. He had everything and lost it. He had no further reason to continue to even try. He hadn't wanted to try anymore. It had been five or six years, he had lost everything that made him himself. Losing her, the thing that had sparked his will to live again, had destroyed him. She refused to back down and return his phone or his keys to him. He had hit himself again, repeatedly, but his back had been to her, he hadn't known she saw. He knocked his glasses from his face again. They fell into the grass. She had helped him regain them, but did not return them, and also managed to wrest his other possessions. He stubbornly insisted he could walk to the store to buy what he needed, to do as he needed to.  
Somehow, she convinced him to go on a car ride with her, after he made her swear she wasn't taking him to a family member's or the hospital. She kept his glasses, phone, and keys, and they drove in silence. He could barely see anything without his glasses, so he was unsure of their destination.  
When they arrived, she told him to get out of the car. He stood stiffly beside the car, as he heard her walk over to him. He couldn't look at her, staring instead off above her shoulder.  
She asked him why, listed reasons, and all those things. At first, he resisted, saying he was dangerous to be around. He was volatile at times. She argued she could be just as much. But together, they could work on themselves. They could help each other.  
When she asked him what he wanted, her or to go through with his plan, he couldn't answer right away. A large part of him clamored for death, as it always did, but another part, a small part, the part that harbored hope for a better future, hesitated and wanted her. He answered her with the fact that he hesitated indicated he did not truly want death. Because if he did, he would not have hesitated.  
But gazing at her, the offer she dangled before him, his resolve for death was weakened enough.  
He had a bruise on his cheek for days, she disliked it, but he liked it. It reminded him of his failure to his friend and himself. It was a reminder that he had broken promises and hurt her.

His soon-to-be ex-roommate shortly thereafter informed him she was moving back in with her father. Before, they had decided she would remain at that apartment, whilst he and his girlfriend sought a new place together. Within merely a couple of days of the news, he promptly had the bills taken out of his name, all except for the apartment itself, as that took more time. Within the course of a day, he had moved in completely with his girlfriend at her apartment. It wasn't completely ideal, but living together on a smaller scale first, would serve them better in the future.

It was still strange, living with her. Having moved in. He still felt like a visitor though he now shared the space. He almost constantly worried about overstepping his bounds. He worried about bills, about finding a new job, about severing ties with his old place. He didn't like to think about the future or really even his present. He was keeping himself distracted, too much so, more than was healthy and he knew it, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. Thinking and existing in the present was painful. Even laying beside her, suicidal thoughts would creep up on him. He considered one of her knives, not that he wanted to use someone else's knife for his purpose. But the thought was mildly tempting.  
He noticed it last week, the meds were losing their effectiveness again. He wondered if it was a dosage thing or if it simply wasn't right. It had been working rather well, the only real negative being it made him tired shortly after he took it. He had fewer depressive episodes while taking it, but it seemed to be losing it's effectiveness.  
He could tell when something was off with her, but she would rarely talk to him. She knew he was always there. It was frustrating though. But then, hadn't he promised her to talk to her? And had he done that? No, he hadn't. So, it was only fair. He told her none of what went through his head lately. Not his suicidal musings, his crushing anxiety, crippling depression, or his seeming growing dependence upon her. The dependence angered and scared him. He had never felt this way about someone, and knew it was dangerous.  
The same time he desires a life with her, he desires death as then he wouldn't have to think or do, or any of that.  
He was not the same person he was around six years ago. Not in the slightest. It was an upsetting fact. She wanted to help him regain all he had lost, but he had no idea how or where to begin.  
Gazing into the distance, the red head sighed.  
Some things just are...


	5. Chapter 5

He sat alone, in their dark bedroom.  
Days ago, while unpacking, he had come across a book. He had bought it around two and a half years ago. Seeing that book, remembering that he used to believe those things, hurt. He had bought the book and been extremely excited about it. He was finally free to have such books, to learn about those things. And now..., he can't say he believes in any of that. And that simple fact, is simply shattering. He knew he didn't believe as he used to, but faced with the cold reality of what it meant, he was stunned. How could he have fallen so far? He used to believe, strongly, in many things...

Going through his books as he put them on the shelf, he came across others that had once meant quite a bit to him. Ones that changed his beliefs. And still, he doesn't believe those things anymore. Though before, he had swore by them, made jokes. No more though. He could hardly believe how much he had lost. It just didn't seem possible. What the hell had changed? He used to believe! He used to dream about being on his own so he could openly exhibit his beliefs. Now..., those things held no sway.

With a sigh, he opened iTunes, looking through the songs. Each song, it seemed, had a memory attached. Or multiple. Or people he associated with the songs. Some of his favorite songs, he couldn't bear to listen to because of the memories attached. Absently, he let it play Lacey Sturm, and then selected some other songs for it to play in succession.  
His thoughts drifted as the music played.  
He had terrible nightmares earlier, when he had taken a nap. He wasn't sure what they meant, or rather, were trying to convey. They didn't make much sense.  
'I have pretty much everything, again. As I've had a few times now. So why am I always drug back to this place? Why can I not find something worth holding on to? It's as if none of it matters. Not my temporary happiness. Not the pretty words strung together by her and I. I know the feelings we share are true, but we're both so ... damaged. How can this not eventually just fall apart like everything else? Why do we bother trying at all? We both have desires for what we cannot have. Or so we tell ourselves we can't. Things that make us hesitate. Could I stop the emotional side and listen to pure logic and make my decision? Probably. It would be difficult, slightly. But I could. The desire is always there, it's clearly not going any where.  
Can emotion really hold me back?  
I don't know.  
The main one holding back is Bo. But Drew is also on her side. And Flaire is as well. She doesn't seem to feel as strongly as the other two, but she still sides with them. Ruby is neutral, as always. And myself? Well, obviously, I want that eternal darkness I've written of so many gods forsaken times. I see it as a logical choice, I'm tired. This life is overall a terrible existence in a forsaken world. It's only going to get worse. So why not?  
That's when they argue with me.  
She's why not. I promised her. A life with her.

But still, I long to make another attempt. Whether or not I succeed matters naught, I just want to do it. I want to be self-destructive. I want to hurt. I want to fucking feel. I have so much hatred for this world. So many lies told constantly. Yet no one dares say a word to break the illusion. It's a shit world, but no one is willing to admit it. They would rather simply pretend that life is great. That there's a reason to all the death and disease and hate. They cling to the beliefs that they're meant for something. That some benevolent being created them and so they kill for this being. But if this being is so benevolent, why do they desire blood? Wouldn't that go against everything it stands for?  
But nay, we can't ask such questions and speak such blasphemy. There is no room for truth in the lies of the world.

At the same time there is so much fucking anger, there's an unending well of sadness. It all stems from the fact that nothing can or will be done. The world will not change because not enough people will ever stand up and demand that it change. They are content to let it fester as long as it doesn't affect them. And why should they not be complacent? It's what they're taught from birth. Obedience. Anything else is terrible and correctional measures must be taken swiftly.'

Few tears fell, in the darkness. They dried where they fell, he didn't bother to wipe them away.  
'Everything eventually dissolves into hate and bitterness. It doesn't matter how it began. The darkness always consumes, especially when the light is greatest.'

Make it stop by Rise Against begins to play. A sad smile grace his lips.

He used to really love the song. And it still is an old favorite. But he has to wonder, what does any of it matter? People such as himself will always be treated differently as soon as their difference is noticed. He and those like him, are not like everyone else. It's noticeable, somehow. In their pack mentality, they can sense it. And so they attempt to destroy the difference. Whatever means necessary.

The world is a dark place.  
Some things are simple...


	6. Chapter 6

He noticed something today.  
The day itself had been relatively good for the most part. One of his sort-of friends texted him about his going to college soon. He shared his major with Tai, and what little he knew that he would have to do to get to where he wanted to be. That conversation wasn't what sparked the realization though.  
They were driving back to the apartment, silent mostly, as Tai's thoughts wandered. It seemed, any thought of the future, even merely a day or two ahead, was petrifying anymore. He wasn't sure why that was though. Before, he used to look to the future with something akin to hope. Now, it seemed he dreaded the days going by. He dreaded the future.  
He couldn't really imagine a future for himself, not that he ever really could.  
Sure, he'd had dreams, but that's all they had been, childish dreams. He could never remember ever having actually wanted something attainable. Everything was always farfetched and unlikely. For the longest time, his first actual dream, had been to be a writer. Everyone suggested journalism, but that was definitely not what he wanted to do, he despised most journalists, or more accurately, what they were paid to write. He wanted to write about fantasy mostly. That kind of writer, but as he grew older, he learned, you had to be someone or be from somewhere to achieve that. Otherwise, who the hell were you? He could self-publish, but at what cost?

His next dreams were no better. He had wanted to be in a band, be part of the next generation of musicians and help kids like the bands he grew up listening to had helped him. He could never find people serious about it. Or they never had time to practice.

He wants to be a scientist as well. Explore the theory of dark matter and the multiverse. He has theories he would like to prove true or have them proven beyond reasonable doubt to be impossible. But even that, the cost monetarily will be tremendous. And who knows what sort of job a scientist can get? Scientists aren't talked about. They just are.

He doesn't seek fame or recognition, that's not why he wants those things. He just wants to help people. Writing something meaningful, playing meaningful music, or making a scientific discovery that could potentially help people.

When did the future become so daunting?  
It didn't used to be. But all he wants to do now, is stay in his apartment and sleep. He doesn't care for the world outside. Why should he? It didn't care about him. For the most part, it hated everything about him. From his tattoos, to who he was on the inside.

Thinking about even the next week, is nearly cause for anxiety to drown his thoughts. It doesn't make sense. Things are fine. He'll start a new job in a few days, maybe a week at most. But it's a job, so he'll have income.  
Which draws him to his next issue.  
What if it comes that he can't make himself get out of bed? What if he can't stand all the people?  
His nametag will be prominent. He will likely get stares or worse. Especially as he doesn't bind his chest. He's not sure how people will react to his name and his appearance. He's never worried about it much, but that was before he was openly himself at work. He knew people shouldn't treat him differently, the man who interviewed him certainly didn't, but that didn't matter. Anyway, that could always simply be for show, being 'professional'. Which essentially, is simply being fake. But that's how this world runs. On falsehoods and deceptions, because honesty is far too much to ask for.  
A part of him didn't want to assume the worst, but at the same time, another part argued he was only being practical. And yet another argued he was being slightly paranoid. Yet another spoke up that he was rightly so, crimes were committed against people like him all the time. Gods knew the authorities around where he lived and worked wouldn't do much if it did actually come to something like that.

He sighed. A new job. New people. New responsibilities. Depending how things went, perhaps a new life with his girlfriend. He had been told and heard that things couldn't stay bad forever. But this wasn't a book. This was life. There never seemed to be any happy endings. There was always something.

He wondered, if he spoke to her about the future, what she would say. They didn't speak about it too much, not in more concrete planning anyway. He wondered what she would say about his worries, the anxiety he infallibly got when he thought about it. He could ask her, he knew he could, but he wasn't sure he wanted the answers.

He knew, before his beliefs had been stripped away, he had never worried over the future like this. He worried about it somewhat, yes, but not like this. He had been sure, secure in his beliefs of how the universe worked. Not now though, now he was like those he used to scorn. It was fitting, wasn't it? He used to mock them and now he is one of them. Funny how that works...

The red head gazed across the room, she was laying down, reading a book he had suggested to her. If he could find the words, he could talk to her now. But he couldn't and he looked away, suddenly, he was tired, despite it being rather early in the night still. He knew he wouldn't sleep yet though. He wanted to spend time with her, even if they were sitting in silence, engrossed in separate activities. He pondered what they could do together, and came up with a few ideas, but still wasn't sure. For now at least..., he would read a little bit more, and maybe try to convince himself to talk to her.

Some things just aren't...


	7. Chapter 7

It seemed he went through phases. For a while, he would feel absolutely nothing beyond basic human needs of hunger, thirst, and tired. Then..., something would happen and he would feel _everything_.  
He hadn't really noticed that he wasn't feeling. It was peaceful during that time, or so it seemed. Things had seemed to be going well even. He had applied to college, gotten accepted, and taken the placement test. After that, he had applied for the FAFSA, for financial aid and then filled out all the lovely college paperwork for it. He even got signed up for classes for the next semester.  
While he wasn't preoccupied with that, he had read some very good books by an old favorite author he had all but forgotten about. He had even managed to get back into a game he had beaten the story on multiple times but still needed to get achievements on.

He thought things were going well.  
That was lost when his girlfriend told him she was unsure about them anymore. It felt as though his world shattered. Especially when the ring was returned to him. And all those absent feelings came roaring back. He was crushed, utterly. Somehow, again, he had failed. He had ruined a perfectly good thing. Something he wanted more than anything, and yet again, he ruined all he had.

He's still not sure how he did it. He thought he was doing all the right things. All the things he should. But apparently not. Again, he was told all he cared for were his games.  
He feels that's not true, he doesn't play nearly as often as he used to. He went weeks without touching a bloody game. Only using his xbox for hulu. But somehow, he still cares more for his games than her. He knows he can't change her opinion, she's so convinced of it. It may as well be true. 

He thinks it's much better to not feel anything. That way, you can focus on other things. Feelings just make things complicated when they don't need to be.  
Everything is pointless anyway. Depending on who wins the election in a few days, things could go farther to shit. And really, why bother trying? Trying at anything?  
We're all dying anyway, why not hasten the process?  
Death, nothingness, has to be better than existence.

Trying..., is overrated. It doesn't really ever get you anywhere. It doesn't get better. Depression can't be cured. It will always haunt you. Even if your life seems to be perfect, depression will ruin it for you.

He loves her, or thinks he does at least. More than anything; he thinks anyway.  
Anymore, he's not sure of anything.  
Happiness..., she wants them both to be happy.  
Happiness is naught but a lie taught from birth. It's unattainable, especially for those with depression, for those that can actually see the world for what it is and accept its grim reality.  
Death is a release for those brave enough to seek it. Life is a torturous thing that everyone is expected to go through time and again, all with the vain hope instilled that it's actually good. He doesn't think so. Life is shit. Death is just..., better. Because then there's literally, nothing. No expectations, no people, no feelings, just blissful nothing.

He got his neck tattoo, to remind him why he couldn't do it. And what has it done since he's gotten it? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.  
He lost faith in that too. He believes in nothing he used to, not even that phrase anymore. He's lost everything that made him. It's taken years, but he's lost it all. Even the dream of proving theories about science, it doesn't seem worth it. Very few people would even care if he proved his theories. Life likely wouldn't change even if he did prove things. The public wouldn't be able to handle new information like what his theories would expose.  
Sheep, the bloody lot.

So really, why did his life matter? Simple, like all other humans, it didn't. Humans were just as much animals as the "lesser" animals they inhabited the planet alongside. But humans insist upon a superiority complex. Though in reality, if they chose, animals could likely kill all the humans. Ridding the world of the the stain.  
It wouldn't matter in the least, if he ceased.

Some things just happen...


	8. Chapter 8

One reason, for everything. That's what he had. He knew, logically, he needed more reasons. But he didn't have any. He wanted so badly, to give up. To let it end. Anymore, at best, it hurt to continue. He was tired of continuing. It was really a never-ending struggle.

He continued though. For his one reason. He reminded himself of her love. Of what it was like in her arms.  
He clung to those thoughts when the darkness descended. Remembering the good times they had. If he kept trying, they could have more good times. Lots more. He just had to keep trying.  
It was hard. Giving up was very tempting. Years ago, when he still held beliefs, he never would have dreamed of giving up. What the hell had changed? He still isn't sure why he lost everything. He used to believe strongly in the philosophy of never giving up.

Now though, hardly a day passes when the thought doesn't cross his mind.  
A quote from a movie comes back to him, "Some people just aren't as well equipped to deal with life."  
The man in the movie was commenting on depression, his wife had killed herself in the film and had been diagnosed as clinically depressed. By that man's logic..., those with depression, weren't well-equipped for life.  
He used to believe in fighting hard for life. So..., what changed?

He doesn't know. He clings tightly to the one reason he has left. He has to change to keep his reason. Will he recognize himself after that? But then, does he even recognize himself now?  
Maybe changing will be for the best. Maybe then he'll actually have lots of good days. Maybe then he won't think about Death so much. He doesn't know, but he's going to try. For his reason.

Some things..., will be.


End file.
